A Russian's Fairytale
by SophieRomanoff
Summary: 'Maybe if she had someone to spend her birthday with, someone who actually, properly, cared about it and her, someone who would make it feel special, maybe then it wouldn't be such a suckish day.' Not all birthdays are happy, especially when you've never had a proper one. It's Natasha's birthday and a certain archer decides to make it his mission to make it as okay as possible.


/ Hey so it was my birthday recently and I felt real lonely and sad and not excited about it. Also my best friend is in America and me in the UK so I'm far away from her and I miss her so much. So I decided to write this to try and help me not feel so alone. I really hope you like it, I sure do.

I know you won't see this for a while, Cas, but this is for you. Thank you for making me feel like I'm never truly alone. I miss you.

slight TW for alcohol and vague red room past mentions/

…

The first year Natasha had been at Shield, her birthday had come and gone with no fuss whatsoever. She'd wanted it that way, or at least she'd convinced herself she had.

It had been only two months since coming to America anyways and she'd still been going through de-conditioning and psych evals and was still pretty much contained to the base so there hadn't seemed like any cause to celebrate.

She'd acted as if it was any other day and of course, Clint was none the wiser. She'd sparred with him, gotten an early dinner from the canteen, ate that with a glass of whiskey and had gone to bed.

Now, a year later, and things were different. Cleared from psych, an actual agent of Shield, no longer confined. But still Natasha was planning to spend her birthday the same way as the previous year.

Clint knew it was her birthday, they'd somehow gotten talking about it when they'd passed a new birthday cake ice cream at the store, but that didn't mean anything would be different.

She still didn't see a reason to celebrate or see it as anything special. It was just a normal Thursday, nothing exciting about it.

That didn't mean she wasn't depressed about the fact it felt like a normal day but she'd never celebrated a birthday, not that she could remember. She imagined her parents would have, but the Red Room hadn't and it had taken hours of digging for her to even find out when her birthday was anyway.

So the day went on as normal.

She got up and worked out, went to a meeting, attended a specialist class, took a walk to the nearest library.

She'd been waiting for months for someone to return the book she'd been after but every time it still hadn't turned up and it seemed clear it just wasn't going to get returned. It was silly anyway, what grown up needed fairy tales.

After the library, she headed to the cheapest liquor store, grabbing whiskey and starting her walk back to the Shield compound.

Deciding she would just order food in for dinner, after she'd locked her door and shed her shoes, she got into comfy clothes and curled up on the couch.

The next few hours passed by in a blur of mind-numbing TV and a couple glasses of whiskey.

As it approached early evening, Natasha ordered in some veggie pizza and because she was feeling sorry for herself, cookie dough ice cream. And yes, it was likely she would demolish the whole thing but hey it was her birthday and it may have been a normal, if not shitty, day, and she wanted some damn ice cream.

As she waited for her food to get there, she clicked on her only non-work related message of the day. From Clint, of course.

'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Hope u have a great day, Nat, see you soon :)'

Smiling a little, Natasha closed her phone and laid back against the arm of the couch, looking up at the ceiling.

She had to admit that it did feel nice that the archer had remembered her birthday. And she knew he only meant well wishing her a good day but she couldn't help but wish it hadn't been just a message.

Maybe if she had someone to spend her birthday with, someone who actually, properly, cared about it and her, someone who would make it feel special, maybe then it wouldn't be such a suckish day. Maybe.

Luckily her food turned up before she got /too/ in her feels and she was quickly settled back on the couch, more than ready to eat her body weight in carbs.

It was just as she took the first bite of a gloriously hot and melty piece of pizza that there was another knock at the door.

Ah fuck, had she forgotten to tip? Or even worse, had the delivery guy forgotten her ice cream?

"One sec!" She called, wiping off her hands and re-clambering out of her cocoon of blankets.

She pulled the door open, change in hand, already holding it out to the person before he could speak.

However, it wasn't the young kid with the bicycle helmet who had brought her food, it was Clint, easy grin on his face and his arms laden with bags.

Natasha's brows furrowed immediately as she pulled her hand back. "Uh...hey?"

"Hey." Clint beamed, leaning forward to press a kiss to a very confused Natasha's forehead. Without asking, he side stepped around her and into the room, dropping the bags next to her blanket mountain.

Closing the door, the redhead turned around. "Can I help you?"

Clint raised an eyebrow as his eyes skimmed over the takeout boxes and bottle of whiskey. "It's your birthday."

"Yeah I realize that." Natasha frowned, feeling her hackles rise just a little as Clint took in her birthday dinner.

But instead of making some sort of comment about it being sad or pathetic, Clint just threw himself back on the couch and helped himself to a slice of pizza.

Natasha continued to stare at him as he ate, more than a little confused. She didn't remember inviting him over. Not that Clint only ever came round when she did but...She'd told him it was her birthday so she'd assumed he would stay away.

Swallowing a mouthful, Clint's grin slipped as he looked up at the woman. He placed the pizza down, brows furrowing. "Nat?"

"Why are you here, Clint?" She asked quietly.

"Because it's your birthday…" Clint looked confused himself now and Natasha blew out a breath and rubbed at her forehead.

"Yeah, no, I got that it's my birthday but you're making it sound like that's…a special reason to drop by or something."

"It is a special reason." Clint's brows furrowed and he stood from the couch, looking sheepish and a bit like a kicked puppy. "Nat, if you don't want me here, that's fine. I just thought maybe you'd like to not be alone tonight.

"No that's not what I'm saying." How did she say what she wanted to in a way that didn't sound totally fucking pathetic? Fuck it, there probably wasn't a way. "It's not that I want you to leave. It's that my birthday isn't a special reason or anything like that. It's not special full stop, it's just a normal day.

"All birthdays are special, Tash, and yours is especially important and special to me." Clint shrugged, stepping over his bags to come stand closer to her. "You're my best friend and yeah, every day with you is special but it's your birthday, it's a reminder of the fact you were born. You exist and you're here and alive and that's special. If you wanna drink and eat pizza on your own, that's really okay, but if you want company, I'm here. And just to let you know…" Clint hummed, smirking a little, "not that I'm trying to tell you I should stay…okay, maybe a bit, but I do come bearing gifts."

Natasha hadn't said a word, hadn't even moved, as she tried to process Clint's words.

/Her birthday was special?/

Surely the archer wouldn't just say that if it wasn't true. Right?

Struggling for words because her brain was firing all sorts of opposing thoughts around her head, she managed to get out a weak, "gifts?"

Clint's face broke into a smile and as he took Natasha's hand, she just knew that he was telling the truth. It was a special day to him. It was a special day to someone, and even if it wasn't to her, maybe the fact it meant something to someone was enough. And not just anyone, her clumsy dork of a best friend (/kinda crush if Natasha let herself think about him for long enough). That had to mean something.

So the redhead let herself be pulled over to the couch because Clint's smile was too soft, too sincere, too caring, too joyous, to even ever think of letting go of his hand.

They sat, Natasha curling her legs up beneath her in the way Clint liked to call her 'kitty cat' position.

"Okay, so, I see that you ordered pizza but I would also like to raise the stakes by suggesting we break into these." Clint beamed as he pulled out the biggest bag of flaming hot Cheetos Natasha had ever seen. She was a sucker for all things spicy and damn if they weren't the best chips she'd ever had.

Lips pulling into a small smile, Natasha raised an eyebrow. "You really want some pizza, don't you?"

Clint shrugged, not even attempting to lie. "Half and half?" he grinned, shaking the bag of Cheetos.

"Fine." Natasha rolled her eyes, but her own lips curled into a small smile as Clint grabbed his half eaten slice.

"This could use some pepperoni, but it ain't bad." He hummed, leaning back against the couch. When the piece was finished, Natasha still hadn't made any move towards the food.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, resting his hand on her knee and squeezing.

"I…" Yes, she should say, yes I'm fine. It's my birthday and I'm not alone, of course I'm okay. Except, inexplicably and humiliatingly, Natasha felt tears building in her eyes, throat closing as her mind all but gave up on finding words.

"Tash?" Clint asked softly, scooting closer, his warmth seeping into Natasha. He was always so warm, so light. After everything she'd done, how was it possible she'd found herself in his path, in his life? It seemed too good to be true.

"I don't…I don't think I'm okay." She said roughly, voice breaking at the end, further adding to her embarrassment.

"And that's okay, love, you don't have to be. I'm just glad you were honest with me." Clint's thumb brushed over the apple of her cheek and Natasha didn't have a choice in whether or not she was going to cry. His calloused touch, gentle and welcoming, always made her walls fall down to let him in. It was scary, terrifying, all-encompassing, and brilliant.

She exhaled shakily, eyes slipping shut as the waterworks started, dripping down her cheeks in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Clint hummed softly, arms pulling her to his chest, her head resting against his shoulder as his warm fingers trailed through her hair.

She let it happen, fingers curling into the shirt that grew damp with her tears, pulling him, holding him, begging him with no words, to please stay. /Please./

"I've got you." His rough, achingly soft voice murmured against her forehead. "You're not alone, Tash, I promise."

Natasha wasn't sure how long she cried for. She tended to lose track of time whenever she got upset, her mind sometimes just shut down as she let it out.

Blinking, the redhead sniffled and pulled a face as she untangled herself from Clint. "Your shirt is so gross now." She murmured.

Clint glanced down and gave an easy shrug. "Hardly the worst thing you've got on my shirt."

"I threw up on you one time." She grumbled, "You've thrown up on me way more yet you're always the one to bring it up."

"Yeah, cause people expect me to be a disaster, not you. They like to hear that you're not a complete robot." He teased, tugging on a loose strand of red hair.

And just like that, the tension left Natasha's body. Was she still sad and anxious? Sure, that was unlikely to go away. But she did have to admit that she did feel a little better.

This time when Clint reached for a slice of pizza, Natasha did too.

She curled up at the archer's side as he grabbed the TV remote and began to scroll for something fun and mind-numbing. Natasha wasn't sure why he even pretended to look, they both knew they'd watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine or The Good Place. It was their 'too depressed for anything sad' list of shows, also including Parks and Recreation and Impractical Jokers.

They did indeed settle on Brooklyn Nine-Nine as the pair tucked into the food.

It was a testament to how Clint made her feel that she actually was having a good time and feeling far better than before he's gotten there.

She was nearly done with her chips when she remembered Clint had said gifts, plural, so not just Cheetos. Her stomach flipped with an emotion she didn't exactly recognise. She was excited, grateful, nervous.

Was that what it felt like to be given a present for a birthday?

Noticing the shift in behaviour, Clint looked over at. "Okay?"

"You said gifts, right?" She asked, feeling almost giddy.

Clint grinned, "I guess I did, huh? You want it now?" He was already reaching for the bag, his own heart racing faster at the pure look of excitement on his partner's face. "Some of it's silly and I'm an idiot and didn't buy wrapping paper so it might be a bit sad but-"

"Clint, shut the fuck up." Natasha breathed. "I wasn't expecting anything, it's going to be perfect. You realise I've never had a birthday present, right? So please gimme before I explode." She grinned, almost vibrating. This must be how kids felt every single birthday.

The first bag was handed to her and she very eagerly reached inside.

Over the next five minutes, Natasha had veritable collection of items. She had a matching mug to the one Phil had gotten Clint years before. She had a robot cushion for her bed, a blanket in Clint's exact shade of purple, a coffee pot to replace the one the archer had broken, a little stuffed spider, a big bag of her favourite sour candy.

Clint was holding the other bag he'd brought protectively in his arms. When she'd emptied the first bag, he carefully handed her the second.

Intrigued, Natasha held it just as softly. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it hadn't been anywhere close to what the gift actually was.

"Have you been stalking?" She pulled her stunned gaze from the present and up to a sheepish and almost worried looking Clint.

"I'm a spy." He shrugged, "and no, I heard you on the phone to the library. I went to a couple others to see if they knew where I could get it but I ended up finding it online. It's an original and it's used but the owner took good of it. I…I hope it's the right one." He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Clint…" and there were those damn tears again.

The archer chewed at his lower lip. "It's not the right one, is it?" He asked weakly.

Unable to find words, Natasha tugged Clint to her, arms sliding around his neck. She buried her face against his shoulder, exhaling shakily. "Thank you." She whispered.

"It's perfect, you're perfect." She murmured, shaking her head.

There, wrapped in a brown paper bag, sat the book she'd been searching for, waiting for. Russian Fairytales, released years and years before her birth but the book she remembered from her short childhood (The Red Room didn't count as a childhood). She remembered no faces of her family, no voices, but she remembered that book. The one she'd been waiting for at the library had been a modernised version but the one Clint had given her was original, it was worn and tattered and loved and so special Natasha couldn't even believe anyone could ever do that for her.

Clint's own voice was gruff and his eyes wet as he chuckled lowly. "There's something else inside, you might wanna look."

Natasha laughed weakly, rubbing her eyes as she ever so carefully opened the front cover of the book. Something sleek and shiny fell out and she grabbed it before it could fall any further. She slid her finger through the loop and lifted it to see.

A beautiful silver arrow sat against her palm as she ran the chain threw her fingers. "Clint…" Once again, his name were the only words she could say.

"So you know you're not alone. Even if I'm not physically here, I'm always coming back." Clint murmured, cheeks a little flushed and his eyes misty. "Happy birthday, Tash."

In all the years to come, Natasha would never have a better birthday than her first.

As she fell asleep with her head in Clint's lap that night, blanket over her body, stomach and heart full, Clint's soft voice speaking Russian above her, Natasha felt special.


End file.
